


Anchored

by holesinthesky



Series: Like somebody else [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cohabitation, Derek's feelings, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Scott/Isaac, Stiles's feelings, mentions of past abusive relationship, no sex sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holesinthesky/pseuds/holesinthesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Derek, we are picking up The Mess Formally Known as Danny from The Jungle. You do not want that on your leather seats. We'll take the jeep."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchored

**Author's Note:**

> This is in the same 'verse as Lost and Found, a little while later. I don't think you need to have read that to get it, but it can only help, right? 
> 
> Beta'd, once again, by the incomparable [elephantfootprints](http://likeanelephantfootprint.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As ever, please tell me if there is anything else I should tag for. Again, Derek has a brief flashback/panicky episode.

“Yeah, ok, we’ll be right there… Sure, yep… see you in a sec.” Stiles hangs up, scrubs a hand across his face and turns to Derek.

“Yeah, we’re gonna need to go and help,” Stiles says. “Danny is… not doing well. Scott says he’s gone through maudlin, out the other side, doubled back around and come out in belligerently sexually aggressive. He also picked up screaming drunk on the way. Scott thinks if there are enough of us we might be able to persuade him to leave. You ok to come along?”

Derek closes his book and absently starts to roll it up in the way that drives Stiles up the wall, flicking the raw edges against his thumb, thinking. “Ok, let’s go. My car or yours?”

“Derek, we are picking up The Mess Formally Known as Danny from The Jungle. You do not want that on your leather seats. We’ll take the jeep.”

“If it’ll get that far...” Derek says under his breath.

“I heard that! I won’t hear that kind of disrespect against my baby. After everything she has done for you. Dude, the sheer volume and variety of our bodily fluids that have ended up in there, she’s basically family.”

“Stiles. That’s gross,” Derek says, his face screwing up in disgust.

“Fun while it was happening though, right?” Stiles leers, waggling his eyebrows comically.

Derek snorts a laugh and plonks a kiss on Stiles’s cheek as he passes, gathering keys and jackets from around the loft. Things have been getting harder to find since Stiles moved in with all his crap. Well, “reasonably sized collection of possessions, Derek”, as Stiles refers to them. So Derek has a minimalist streak. Whatever. “Come on, let’s get this done.”

~

They arrive at The Jungle on just the wrong side of midnight. It’s packed and sweaty already, the music too loud for sober human ears, let alone werewolf ones and Derek can feel his calm peeling away onto the sticky floor. Stiles spots Scott across the dancefloor and they head straight for him, cutting awkwardly through the sea of people. Derek feels his skin catch against sticky arms and chests as they pass and he takes a deep breath, curls his fingers in. Scott isn’t far away now. He sees a few eyes flick up to him, some pupils dilate, some heart rates pick up. He keeps moving, gets a hold of Stiles’s wrist so he that stays close.

By the time they get to Scott’s sentry corner Derek is sure Scott will be able to hear him grinding his teeth. Stiles seems to sense some of his unease because he pushes Derek into the wall next to Scott and leans over him, making a loose barrier of his body, his scent lifting off the warm cotton of his t-shirt just inches away. Stiles isn’t looking at him, he’s listening to Scott’s shouted explanation, gesturing across the room to where… yes, there’s Danny, wrapped around one of the half naked, sticky bodies and not looking as though he is going anywhere fast. Stiles isn't looking at Derek, but he is stroking one thumb back and forth against Derek’s palm, a grounding force.

Scott disappears back across the room and Stiles turns back to Derek. “Scott’s getting us some drinks. Just water,” he says at Derek’s raised eyebrow. “He thinks we’ll need to wait it out for a bit, just be here if he needs us. You alright to stay? Not exactly your idea of fun, I know.”

Derek is grateful to him for trying to make light of it. “Yeah, I’m fine. We should stay for Danny. Don’t think you’re getting me dancing though.”

Stiles laughs and flicks his eyes to Derek’s for a second before turning to scan the room, absently leaning further into Derek’s space. It’s still oppressive in the club, but the little cocoon they’ve made in the corner is helping. Stiles is overheating a little and the extra heat just brings his scent out all the more. He has one hand on the small of Stiles’s back and something makes him think of the couch at the back of the movie theatre when they first started dating. That comforting scent, warm skin and sweet, almost innocent kisses in the dark.

They stay that way until Scott gets back with three pints of water and some peanuts for himself and they settle in. They don’t try to talk, they’d end up screaming themselves hoarse. Stiles eventually ends up moving with the music, he just doesn’t have it in him to be still for this long. It starts small but within two songs he’s throwing his limbs around like he’s sixteen again and has forgotten how his centre of gravity works. Derek finds it all distressingly endearing. After a particularly violent spasm he turns around to Derek and does what he probably imagines is a saucy grin. Derek rolls his eyes and reels him in by one spinning arm, pinning him to his chest and pressing his lips to Stiles’s hair.

He moves his mouth to Stiles’s ear and murmurs, close, “I have never seen you look so sexy.”

Stiles whips his head around. “Really?!”

“No, Stiles, you look adorably uncoordinated. But. But I love you,” he pushes out, before nipping gently at Stiles’s ear.

Stiles’s face slips into something slack and soft. He turns in Derek’s arms, puts a sweaty hand to his cheek and pecks him on the nose. He puts his lips right by Derek’s ear, warm damp breath washing over his neck. “I love you, too. Even if you don’t appreciate my moves.”

Derek realises they are being antisocial and turns around to check on Scott. He’s got his face two inches from his iPhone and has a grin approximately a mile wide.

“How’s Isaac?” Derek shouts with a smirk.

Scott looks up. “He’s fine,” Scott yells back. “We think Patches might have knocked up Missy from down the hall!”

Stiles’s brow creases for a moment. “Missy is a toy poodle. Patches is… not.”

“Yeah!” Scott grins. “Imagine the puppies!”

They are interrupted by the sudden arrival of Danny along with approximately six foot six of drag queen.

“Heeeeey guysss. Are you here to help Scott manwrestle me out of here? ‘Cause this is Tara and I am staying. And not going home.” Danny’s eyes slide over to Derek. “Derek you look hot. I mean, you usually look hot but also scowly and like, _dude_ , so hostile.” He blinks slowly. “Stiles!... I’m dancing now.” He stumbles off, Tara lifting an eyebrow at Stiles and Derek as she follows.

“Well,” says Stiles, looking questioningly at Derek. “So… we stay?”

Derek has mellowed out in their quiet corner and either he has become used to the music or he’s going deaf because it’s not annoying him as much as it was. Besides, Stiles seems to be enjoying himself. “Sure.”

They go unmolested for a whole ten minutes before some guy decides to ruin everyone’s evening.

“Hey,” he says to Derek, the words dripping from his slack mouth as he gives the two of them an extremely protracted look up and down. It makes Derek’s skin crawl; he feels stripped and cold all over despite Stiles plastered warm all over his front, already shifting defensively.

“You got a cute boyfriend. You wanna share?” the guy asks, leering like he knows this performance to be foolproof. He’s a little taller than Derek, black hair plastered to his sweating, narrow face, wearing only painted on jeans and arrogance. Derek can see that this man is meant to be attractive, but he can smell his sickly-sour breath from here and the gaze that sways between Derek’s chest and Stiles’s mouth is turning Derek’s stomach.

Derek is still furious and feels so threatened that he can’t form a response.

“No thanks, man. Not interested,” Stiles says, clearly aiming for a drama-free dismissal. This asshole just isn’t getting it though, seemingly oblivious to Derek trying to burn a hole in his skull with just his eyes.

“Not gonna let your man speak for himself?” he drawls, and actually _tuts_ at Stiles. Derek loses his rag. He grabs the guy by his neck and slams him into the wall. Stiles freezes, hands held out as if he could stop the inevitable.

Derek’s face is two inches from the guy’s face. He leans a little closer and hisses, “Get the fuck away from us. You come near me or my boyfriend again and I will _hurt_ you.” He’s just a hair’s breadth from having fangs.

The guy holds his hands up, the bravado dropping from his face. “Fine, fine. Jesus Christ, no need to overreact. Dick. I’m going, I’m going...” He storms off, glancing back incredulously.

“Derek?” Stiles says carefully. “You wanna get out of here?”

Derek closes his eyes, tries to take a deep breath. Nods.

“You ok if we get going, Scott?” Stiles asks.

Scott looks wary, like he’s trying not to startle Derek. “Sure, it looks like Danny has mellowed anyway. I’ll get him home.”

“Ok, see you later man.” Stiles pats Scott on the shoulder and moves to leave. Derek knows he should say something, but he is so close to shaking apart that he just follows Stiles, making for the door as fast as he can without running.

They get out of the club and Stiles reaches to touch Derek’s arm but he flinches back. “Don’t touch me. Just...” Derek closes his eyes again, tries desperately to reach for some control. His wolf is further back now he can feel the cold air, but he’s far from centred.

He reaches for his anchor, the new one he’s shy to tell people about, the one that’s Stiles’s open face and strong arms, but it’s not working, the idea of being held now becomes being held down, becomes Kate looming over him, thighs either side of his rib cage and hand down his pants and he squirms where he stands, kicking to free himself from the memory but of course it doesn’t work.

Somehow he find himself against a wall, a wall that he can kick until his toes bleed in his shoes, that he can claw at until his fingers shred. He’s in full beta form now and there is no anchor, there’s barely an outside world.

He comes around curled into a bleeding ball against the wall. Stiles is several feet away, squatting on his haunches, staring at Derek with tears in his eyes.

“Derek,” he says thickly, sounding desperate and scared. “Derek what can I do? I know I can’t touch you but I need to do something, I need to make it better, I- Derek. You’re bleeding. Can we, can we go? Can we take your home and can we just not be here?”

Derek is exhausted and still shaking. He can’t do this right now. Stiles can’t make this better. He’s broken. He always will be.

He gets up and follows Stiles towards the jeep, but he can’t meet his eyes. He bypasses the passenger door and crawls into the trunk, just the idea of being close enough to Stiles to feel his body heat has him in a cold sweat, and the trunk is as alone as he can be while still getting home so he can have a scalding shower.

By the time they get back to the loft, Stiles’s heart rate is through the roof and Derek can see that he’s beside himself. He can barely keep himself in his own skin and Stiles is freaking out. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t, this is too much. Derek is so tired. He can see what’s happening, he knows it’s irrational, but he just can’t be anything else right now.

He swallows back the bile and speaks “Stiles. I’m sorry, I know, I know that I- That this is bad. I’ll be ok, I just need to- Please stop worrying, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I-” He’s going to cry soon. He needs to clean up, he needs to get some kind of control back, some kind of perspective. He turns away from Stiles’s stricken face and closes himself in the bathroom.

~

Derek wakes up the next afternoon face down in bed, wearing two pairs of pyjamas. Stiles is next to him on the bed, dressed and curled on top of the covers.

“Morning,” Stiles says tentatively. “I slept on the couch. Am I ok to be here? I can give you space, I didn’t know if-”

“It’s fine,” Derek cuts him off and smiles at him, just a little. “Morning. Sorry about last night.”

“No, God, no. Don’t apologise.”

“I know. It’s just. I hadn’t had a… panic attack, or whatever that was, for so long. I thought I’d… got over it all, or something.”

Stiles smiles sadly at him. “Well, that guy was a total sleaze. And then _I_ freaked out too, which probably didn’t help. Fuck, Derek, I have never seen you so… out of it.”

“Yeah. I know.” Derek doesn’t want to talk about it. Sleep has given him a disconnect and he’d really rather get past it. He grins a little wider, thinking of the perfect distraction. “Breakfast?”

Stiles holds Derek’s gaze for a second and then seems to allow the subject change, bounding off the bed and towards the kitchen. Stiles makes slightly sloppy pancakes and fills the counter with jars and jugs and bowls of everything, like breakfast gets exponentially better with each pancake topping option. Derek sits on one of his slightly pretentious bar stools and loads his pancakes with maple syrup, blueberries, kiwi fruit, whipped cream, bacon bits and more maple syrup. He’s a purist. Once they have enough pancake to sink a ship, Stiles sits down and covers his in the kind of unholy mismatch he seems to favour in all culinary endeavours.

Derek suddenly remembered how last night had even started. “Did you find out what happened to Danny?” Derek asks.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles says through a mouthful of pancakes and hash browns. “Apparently he wound down about an hour later, fell asleep on Scott. Don’t worry, he has pictures.”

“So gets to wake up to a hangover _and_ a horrendous public breakup to reflect on,” says Derek.

“Lucky guy.”

~

By dinner time it has become obvious to Derek, even in his funk of emotional hangover, that Stiles is keeping a careful distance. Usually, by mid afternoon Stiles would have been relying on Derek for structural support for several hours. Where chairs and counters serve as perfectly good furniture for most people, Stiles prefers to lean on Derek whenever he can. Which is quite a lot of time time since Stiles works from home and Derek does shift work.

Derek looks up from his book at where Stiles is staring at the TV from the crook of his arm at the other end of the couch. “Stiles.”

Stiles startles, blinks rapidly and looks over at him “Yeah?”

“What are you doing over there?” Derek asks.

“... watching TV?” Stiles says uncertainly.

“All the way over there.” Derek raises an eyebrow.

Stiles looks a bit sheepish. “I didn’t- I wasn’t sure if you wanted space?”

Derek looks down at his hands. “I- Last night I did. It’s kind of… short lived, I guess. I got… triggered, or something, but then I slept it off? I’m fine now, you can go back to using me as furniture. It’s fine. I- I want you to.”

Stiles looks unsure for a second then scoots across the couch to worm his way under Derek’s arm. He settles and returns his attention to the TV, but Derek can feel the tension in him.

“Out with it,” Derek mumbles, jostling Stiles lightly with his arm.

“Ok. I can’t think of a way of saying this that doesn’t sound condescending or just a bit dickish, but-” He scrabbles up onto his knees to he’s looking Derek in the eye. “I guess I’d like to know if there’s anything I can do to help _that_ to not happen again. I don’t know what happened to you - and I don’t need you to tell me - but I would like to know what situations you don’t want to be in,” Stiles finishes, looking even less sure of himself.

“I can judge my own limits...” Derek starts, feeling, yep, a bit condescended to.

“I know that. I know. I just… God, I feel so impotent here, man,” Stiles says.

Derek thinks about that, pulls at a loose thread in his jeans “I know you do. I would, in your position. But it’s not something you can help with really. I mean- You do help, you are helping, just by being with me and treating me like a human being and,” he scratches the back of his neck, ducks his head, “loving me so much, and… yeah. You help. But you can’t… fix.”

Stiles brings his knees up to his chin, his mouth an unhappy line.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Derek says and starts to smile as he pokes Stiles in his belly. “I can’t fix your awful eating habits, or your inability to clean _anything_ properly. We’re all compromising here.”

Stiles’s smile is weak, but it’s there.

“Now shut up, that’s all the feelings I can do.” Derek pulls Stiles back into his chest and wonders at how _he_ ended up providing emotional reassurance. He tucks his face into Stiles’s neck and lets whatever’s playing on the TV wash over him.

When he wakes up an hour later Stiles is drooling into Derek’s shirt, one hand curled around Derek’s wrist and he feels safe. Anchored.

**Author's Note:**

> I tumbl at [theresholesinthesky.tumblr.com](http://theresholesinthesky.tumblr.com), where I mostly rec writing far better than my own and reblog snarky gifsets.


End file.
